Sherlock Story

Forgotten Memories, Chapter 186

*Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment.

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss; along with the amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story, however, is my original thought and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

Acknowledgements' and fun question winner announced in Part C. There is still time to answer the fun question if you would like to. It was, "Some people who aren't geniuses have an amazing ability to stimulate it in others." Which series and episode is the sentence found in?

Warning Moriarty*****. *** T rated ****. ****Need I Say More?

"Strength does not come from physical capacity. It comes from an indomitable will."

~ Mahatma Gandhi

221B Baker Street

Three Weeks Later

Sherlock closed John's Mac. A mischievous smile graced his face. He had spent the last three weeks with Mycroft at the manor, as well as traveling. He had helped his brother to tie up all the loose ends that had been unraveled, courtesy of Moriarty. He had just arrived back at 221B less than forty hours ago, yet he could feel the familiar boredom scratching at his mind.

He would not be bored soon.

He had not seen William for a little over forty hours, and found himself missing the young child. He still felt strange saying his son, even in his thoughts.

A distinctive sound indicated that an incoming text was ready to be viewed. At the early hour, he knew who it was from. In truth, he thought of sending his own text, but decided to do it later. He read the text. A strange look came across Sherlock's face. He looked around guiltily, as if all his thoughts were being written on the wall behind his head. He wrote a response, and after a slight hesitation, hit the send button.

Sherlock walked to the kitchen to get coffee. He kept his mobile in his trouser pocket. He knew when she was in a playful mood. The wait was not long, before the ping of his mobile phone told him that a message was waiting for him.

Sherlock read the text. He did not notice that his cup was midway between his mouth and the table, frozen. His eyebrows lifted as he thought and thought and…

*Ping

Another message came from Adler. Sherlock read it. A slow blush spread on his neck and face. The text was pure nonsense, he told himself. It was physically impossible to do as she suggested. He cleared his throat and put the mobile in his pocket. Mind over matter, he reminded himself. He would not let her get to him. He had a case to solve.

"Morning Sherlock." John said as he crossed the kitchen and sat on the table opposite Sherlock. Sherlock motioned wordlessly to John, as he pointed out the cup of hot coffee. John nodded his thanks, as he sipped the coffee and moaned because of how delicious it was. Sherlock had made the perfect cup of coffee. Again.

Sherlock frowned and crossed his legs, as he looked away and took another sip. He did not need any sounds reminding him of Irene. Both men sat in silence for a few seconds.

*Ping

Sherlock took out his mobile and read another text. He trained his face and wiped off all emotions. He casually put the phone on the table instead of back into his pocket.

John took another sip of tea and sighed contentedly. Sherlock turned away from him and frowned before remembering that he was supposed to be emotionless.

John, after a long sip, made one more noise. Sherlock could not decide if it was a sigh or a groan. He decided that he had enough, and could not hold back the comment any longer.

"Do you intend to make love to your coffee?" Sherlock asked. He no longer tried to hide the irritation in his voice or on his face.

"What's wrong with you today? Can't a man appreciate a good cup of coffee?" John stopped and looked at Sherlock closely. Sherlock refused to look at John. Instead, he looked at the wall, as he recited to himself all the different forms of bacilli, in French. He could feel John's eyes examining him. It was irritating.

"Tell Irene hi for me," John said casually as he started to drink his coffee again. Sherlock sighed. He then took a sip of coffee and said. "She says to tell you hello as well."

John's eyes shifted to Sherlock. "We have a case today." John made a statement; he did not ask a question. "When is Lestrade going to pick us up then?"

Sherlock asked how he knew with his eyes.

"You made me coffee, not tea. You want me to become alert quickly. We've just gotten back to the flat, and I know for a fact that you didn't call Lestrade, so you broke into the Scotland Yard computer database again. There's a particularly vicious murder, or a serial killer going about. They haven't found the killer yet, so you deduced that Lestrade will ring you up today. You're casually texting Irene back and forth, so that means that you haven't heard from Lestrade yet, and believe you have time before he comes around. Lestrade would be concerned about our safety, so he will insist on driving us himself. You'll argue halfheartedly, just out of habit - mind, then you'll give in." John took another sip of coffee and sighed.

"And, as far as how I knew that it was Irene that you were texting, you have that same goofy look on your face that you try to hide whenever Adler text you." John added triumphantly. "I live with the world greatest brain. I've picked up a few observational skills." John glanced at Sherlock and smiled as he took another sip. "Besides, your neck is as red as a lobster."

Sherlock smiled his approval before his smile left.

"I have been a bit of an arse lately." Sherlock looked John in the eyes for the first time, as he tried to communicate his apology to him.

"You're always an arse. You've just been more of an arse than usual." John looked at him and smiled.

Sherlock opened his mouth to argue then thought better of it. He nodded his agreement as he turned his back to John in the seat and stiffly got up. After a moment's hesitation, his hand reached behind him to pick up his mobile. He then walked to his bedroom.

"Oh Sherlock," John's voice floated to his back. "I forgot to tell you, Lestrade isn't going to call, he's already called. It seems that you were not answering your mobile." There was a hesitation, as John took another sip of coffee and sighed appreciatively.

"And," Sherlock said irritably with his back still to John.

"Oh… right. He'll be here in," there was a pause, "let's see…. Um… Thirty minutes, maybe less." There was another pause as he took another sip. "Probably less."

Sherlock nodded stiffly as he continued to walk just as stiffly.

"Oh Sherlock," John said sweetly.

"For Heaven sakes, what now!" Sherlock replied with his hands clenched into fist besides him.

"Whatever you're up to, you've better hurry." John said casually.

Sherlock's body became rigid, before he started to move again.

John could not help but smile openly when he heard the loud slam of the door to Sherlock's room. Revenge was rather sweet. He took a sip as he glanced in the direction of Sherlock's room. It was good to see Sherlock being more… Human. Sherlock had teased him mercilessly because of Mary. He thought of a dozen ways to torment his mate, and smiled in anticipation. John received a text.

*Ping. Behave John - IA

John thought for a moment. He did not ask how she knew. He was surrounded by extraordinary people and did not question certain things.

In your famous words Irene, no promises. *Send.

*Ping. John I have to go to Moscow for a few days, can you help Sherlock care for William - have to go Sherlock. :)

John looked at Sherlock's door and then back to his mobile. "Alrighty then." He frowned as he thought.

John looked regretfully at the cup of coffee, as he picked up the phone and sighed. He stood and walked over to the kitchen sink.

"Lestrade, I have a favor to ask." John poured the dark brown liquid into the sink with regret. He inhaled the aroma. "Yes, I know that you're almost here. Could you go to that place where Sherlock likes to get his coffee and get us some?" He looked guiltily at the now empty cup in his hand. He was not in a habit of lying to his friend. "Yes Greg, you're right. Sherlock isn't ready." John felt better. It wasn't exactly a lie anymore. "Yes he's alright. Something's come up, you know how he is." There was a pause, "Thanks mate."

"Yes," John thought as he took Sherlock's cup to the sink and dumped his coffee down the drain as well. "He definitely remembered. Everything."

Current Day

Crime Scene

A dank, coppery smell assaulted his nostrils. Lestrade and John watched as Sherlock maneuvered himself around the bodies, and the blood. He had been quiet for the last fifteen minutes. He would mutter to himself intermittently. He scanned the room for the second time before he bent down. He gathered his beloved coat in one hand, to avoid the edged rubbing against the thick coat of dust, and grime. Long, lean fingers grasp his magnifying glass, as he examined the body both visually, and with his gloved hands. Occasionally, he would text Molly, and Molly would text back.

John folded his arms watching quietly. Normally, he would hear one or two expressions of glee, as the puzzle came together, but not today. Sherlock was in an unusual mood. John could tell the puzzle was coming together, but the more it came together, the more disturbed Sherlock seemed to become. No one would be able to tell, but John could, and to a lesser degree, Lestrade. His mouth tightened increasingly as time passed. His eyebrows creased in concentration, and discovery of the unexpected.

It was one of several abandoned buildings that stood next to each other on the edge of the city. It was not in the best of areas. John watched quietly as Sherlock walked about the crime scene. It was three bodies laid out on the floor, as if their limbs had been placed in specific positions. First, there had been one body. Five days later, there had been two bodies laid out. And now, five days apart like the rest, there were three bodies laid out. The killings had started a little over three weeks ago. Sherlock had no doubt that if they did not catch the killer, in another five days, there would be four bodies found in an abandoned property; likely a building or warehouse.

None of the victims knew each other, or were connected in any way. They were not the same build, height, ethnicity, sex, or any other factor that would group them together. One body was that of a drug dealer. One body was that of a teenager. The last body was that of a nurse.

John turned curiously, as he heard footsteps jogged toward him. Lestrade followed close behind. They spoke in quiet, hurried tones. Sherlock never noticed as John withdrew himself, and follow the officer.

Sherlock paced around the bodies as his eyes traveled up and down taking in every detail, and deleting the unimportant. He had been on many cases with many different killers, including serial killers. Something was off, it was almost as if...

Of course. Obvious.

But he had to be sure. He looked up and was surprised to not see John. Lestrade was there, as well as several officers and lingered around the area.

With a quick snap, he pulled off his gloves, taking care not to get the blood on his hands. He discarded the soiled pair in the Biohazard bin without thought, before he walked over to Lestrade.

He looked at Lestrade with question in his eyes. "There's been a minor traffic accident outside, John went to help. He said to tell you he'll be back shortly. And not to run off without him."

Sherlock nodded once. "This has all the signs of a serial killer. I need to see the first victims for myself. From what I could tell of the photographs. He's grown bolder. There are no hesitation marks when he cuts them. The mutilations are becoming more ritualistic, with fewer mistakes." Sherlock looked slightly distracted. "At least that's how it looks at first glance."

"What do you mean, at first glance, Sherlock," Lestrade asked as he glanced at the bodies then back at the Consultant Detective.

"I need more data," he muttered more to himself and to Lestrade. "Tell John I'll be back, I'm just examining the skip."

Lestrade watched as Holmes left. Donovan came up to him, as the other officer's milled about. Lestrade turned to Donovan. "He might need some assistance, since John is engaged at the moment."

Donovan sighed, she rolled her eyes before she could stop herself. She knew it was code for, keep an eye on Sherlock.

"And me, without a gun today." She said sweetly.

"No guns mean that you can't accidentally shoot Holmes." Lestrade put on an insincere smile, "I know you would be terribly broken up if you accidentally shot the man."

"Terribly," She said as she followed in the direction that Holmes went.

Current Day

Undisclosed Location

Sherlock deduced that they had been driven for about forty minutes. Despite being blindfolded, he had some idea of where they were. His mental map of the city helped him in times such as these. There had been too many such times. He could tell right away by the sloppiness of the abduction that this was not Moriarty's doing. If he was to guess, and he never guessed, it was Moran.

His mind worked lighting fast.

The murders were to get my attention.

The accident was staged - to get John away from me.

But Moran could not do it directly, so he let Anderson loose .

This was personal for Moran. Why would he not do it himself?

Ah.

He tried unsuccessfully to get into the country, but could not without detection.

Mycroft.

He would still want to be close by.

Despite the pressure, Moriarty is in a country near England.

More than a bit not good.

Sherlock's eyes shifted to Anderson.

Anderson, like the obedient puppy dog, did his master's bidding without any thought. Only there was one thing Anderson did not count on.

Sherlock glanced to his right.

Donovan.

Sherlock's entire mental dialogue had taken place in ten seconds. He tensed his body as he looked around. He tried to move closer to Donovan. Anderson noticed as his eyes narrowed in annoyance.

The other men had disappeared into other parts of the building, talking. Beside Anderson, only one armed man and a gun was in the dirty room. The former Yarder also had a gun.

Anderson looked at Donovan. At first, his features took on a shocked expression, but his face quickly transformed. It now twisted between anger and embarrassment, there was also the slightest hints of shame.

"What are you doing here. Is the Freak and you lovers now?" He hissed quietly.

Donovan said nothing at first. There was a series of fast blinking, before she blinked twice, more slowly this time. It was as if the physical act would make the apparition in front of her disappear.

"Robert?" Her voice was unsure as if her physical eyes were untrustworthy.

Sherlock would normally have given a scathing remark at the dumbfounded looked on Sally Donovan's face, or the equally dumbfounded look that Robert Anderson's face betrayed. But he could not. There was nothing comical about the current situation in which all three found themselves.

Sherlock eyes traveled up and down Anderson. He observed every movement, shift, and inflection of voice. His eyes held fire. It seemed as if the heat of the Consultant Detective's gaze would catch Anderson ablaze at any minute. Robert resisted the urge to squirm.

Several scathing remarks came to Sherlock's mind. Be quiet, He heard John's voice in his head saying. He bit his lips in an effort to hold in his comment. His body was held taut. He did not notice that he positioned himself slightly in front of Donovan.

Donovan would normally have been offended by such a move, but the shock of it all left her numb, and vulnerable. She stood frowning.

The men entered the room again. The man that held the gun visibly relaxed.

The men that were with him started to grow impatient. One of them became noticeably sweaty. Sherlock Holmes had a reputation. It was best to be quick and to the point, than to chance the resilient man's luck. They became restless and started to shift, as they looked around nervously. They seemed to be staring from the tall man, to the woman, and back again. One of them, the self-appointed leader, finally spoke.

"Take care of him, you heard what the boss said." One of his fellow criminals looked Anderson up and down before smirking and saying, "Or should I say to Mister Moran that it's too much for your... delicateness?"

A round of laughing and giggling was heard from the men.

Robert's jaws clenched tightly. Most people in the room missed it, but Holmes did not. A determined look came on Anderson's face, as his eyes now looked toward Holmes.

Anderson walked up to Holmes and slapped him so hard that his head spun. The men immediately stopped laughing. They looked at each other in surprise, as Anderson grabbed Holmes and pushed him violently making him stumble. He would have fallen if he had not balanced himself quickly.

Donovan came to herself and attempted to help Sherlock. In a flash of movement, she hit then took out the legs of the largest man who stood next to her. He fell with a loud thud. Sherlock who had not been struggling before, started to struggle now. A second man looked angrily at his mate who was on the floor, before hitting Sally once. She tried to shift away, but he still struck the edge of her jaw. As his hand lifted up again to hit her a second time, Sherlock intervened and punched him in the jaw with two quick strikes. The second man tumbled to the floor.

The first man recovered, and lifted himself to his feet. The second man jumped up and joined him, as he rushed at Holmes from the opposite side, swinging his fist. Holmes easily ducked the punch. He grabbed the first man, before pushing him into the second man. Sally helped by tripping them with her leg. Both men fell backward and hit the floor with a loud thud. Holmes then positioned himself in front of Sally.

The leader laughed roughly until Sally and Sherlock took out a third man. He abruptly stopped laughing and shouted loudly.

"Enough!"

He was running out of men.

The remaining man held a gun to Sally's head. Sherlock stopped fighting then. Anderson watched the entire event. It had taken place in less than a minute. Three embarrassed and angry looking men picked themselves off the floor.

Sally and Sherlock stood back –to -back , as they breathe heavily in an attempt to catch their breath.

"Moran said that he was mine. And the female too." Anderson's voice seemed out of place and strained.

The leader looked at him for a moment before speaking. "The female was not planned. She should be shot. She's trouble." He glanced at his watch for the third time. "We have to leave. We've been here too long. They'll be looking for them."

Anderson walked up to the leader and looked him in the eyes as he said. "They're mine. Both of them. I'd like to be alone. I was instructed to beat Holmes to death, slowly, before I put a bullet between his eyes. I was then instructed to make it look like a drug deal gone bad. Am I to tell Mr. Moran that I shot Holmes quickly because you were in a hurry?" Anderson sneered. "I am in no hurry to end my fun. I don't need a babysitter, go. Or should I tell Moran that you were," Anderson smiled, "less than cooperative?"

The implied threat got the leader's attention. "They're yours," he glanced at his wristwatch as he added, "One of my men will stay with you," he smiled falsely, "In case you need help mate."

Anderson nodded once before he led Holmes away, after demanding that he raise his hands. They heard the retreating footsteps of the leader and his men, as they moved quickly to the exit. Robert observed his nemesis as they moved up the stairs and to the back of the building. He was vigilant enough to not get close enough for the Consultant Detective to touch him. The other criminal had a firm, yet cautious hold on Donovan. His nose was still bleeding.

After they arrived in the room. Anderson instructed the large man to bring Holmes closer, and find something to tie the woman with. He offered to aim his gun at the troublesome two, while the criminal looked about. The large man put his gun in his back trouser belt, before he looked around the dirty bedroom. Holmes did not say a word, nor did he make any moves to fight back. He looked at Anderson, almost completely ignoring the other man.

Sally jumped when she heard the gunfire, despite the fact that the sound was muffled. Sherlock did not. He did not seem surprised. Anderson dropped the bloodied pillow to the floor. Sally just stared at Anderson's hand that held the gun.

"Get her out of here." Robert said in a monotone voice.

Sally did not move, she just continued to stare.

"Donovan." Sherlock said in a voice so tender, it confused the former Yarder.

Robert frowned puzzled. He would have told himself that tenderness was something that Sherlock Holmes was not capable of. He was a psychopathic freak, nothing less. A small voice inside him told him that he could have been wrong about the man. The thought was too horrible to even contemplate, so he pushed it down, deep down and considered it no more.

"Sally," Holmes voice came more firmly. The baritone voice was whispered this time with more urgency. Sherlock turned her head away from Anderson to look into his eyes. He was careful to avoid the bruise on her jaw.

Sally Donovan came to herself. She whispered apologetically, "Sorry." Determination came into her eyes. Sherlock ignored her comment. He paid no attention; he knew she would be embarrassed at her perceived show of weakness.

Sherlock stiffened as Anderson closed the few yards until he was next to him. Robert looked at the disheveled man. A small amounts of drying blood was on the corner of his bruised mouth. He pointed the gun at him almost wishfully, before turning it around and giving it to Sherlock.

"How do you know that I will not shoot you," Sherlock raised the gun with an irritated expression, "I probably should."

There was a moment of silence as Robert looked longingly at Donovan. The fact that Donovan looked at Holmes, the room, even the dead man, but not at him any longer, was not lost on Anderson. He sighed resigned before he turned back to the freak.

Anderson huffed, with a smirk. "You're not me."

The two men stared at each other for a second longer, before Sherlock and Donovan moved as one. At one point, Sherlock took Sally's hand, as she glanced around for danger. She did not pull her hand away as he had expected, but held on to the psychopath's hand. Anderson watched as they moved away. He noted with some jealousy that Sally allowed Sherlock to lead the way, and they seem to work well together. If he had tried to lead Sally, she probably would have hit him. Something had changed between the Freak and his Sally. As he moved away he realized something odd, perhaps Sally was not his Sally anymore. Maybe, she never truly was.

He thought about his children, his former profession, and his old life. His eyes shifted to the man in the corner. He had died by his hand. He sat on the edge of the dust-covered bed for a few seconds and stared at his right hand. The slight splatter of the man's blood was still on it. He did not bother to wipe the spots of red from his hands. It was much too late for that, he decided. He hardened himself in thought. He had money which Moran had given him, the fool. He would disappear, then start again somewhere.

He stood determined. Tired eyes looked one last time toward the opening that Sherlock and Sally had disappeared through, several minutes ago. He had done all he can for them. The large man's mobile phone rang. His time was running out. Robert Anderson turned away then; from the only woman he truly loved, and from his old life. He moved in the opposite direction.

Within minutes, Robert Anderson was gone.

A/N: I wrote more but it is not completed. I decided to give you something in the meantime. The last part of the story before the epilogue will be posted as soon as possible. Unexpected life events.

To those who checked on me, thank you. I survived. To the two people whose laptops I drained of power to finish this, after draining mine - Thank you, I love you both.

You know who you are.